The Dragon and the Wolf
by hrhowling
Summary: An old rival of Harry's reappears, but he's changed beyond recognition. Is he the wolf amongst the sheep, or is Harry a sheep amongst all the wolves? (OCs, maybe some pairings. Rated T just in case)
1. Prologue

**This is set a year after the ending of the last book, and I really hope you all enjoy it.  
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><p><strong><span>Prologue<span>**

It was dark, but there was definitely something in the garden. Dudley could see its eyes gleaming in the yellow light of the streetlamp. A long, lupine shadow draped its onyx form on the front lawn, and he knew that his mother, Petunia, would have thrown a fit if she'd known there was something in her flowers. The sight unsettled Dudley, and he knew he had to wake up Harry. The two cousins had grown closer since they'd been forced into hiding, and now they were both home again, he'd tried being a better family member to Harry, much to his parents' disapproval.

Carefully, he slipped out of his room and into Harry's room. The floor was littered with cardboard boxes that were half full, but Dudley managed to pick his way around them without making too much noise.

"Harry!" he hissed, shaking his sleeping cousin's shoulder. "Wake up!"

"Hmm?" Harry mumbled quietly as he woke up. "What is it, Dudley?"

"There's something in the front garden."

Harry grumbled in annoyance as he reached out to the bedside table for his glasses. Once they were perched firmly on the bridge of his nose, he propped himself up onto his elbow to look at Dudley.

"It's probably a cat or something, just go back to bed, you're paranoid," he mumbled, getting ready to fall asleep again. He'd snatched a look at his clock and the time had read half past two in the morning. That was enough of an excuse to be as grouchy as possible with his cousin, despite the hostility between them having disappeared in the past year.

But Dudley was insistent. "It's big, though. Looks more like a dog than a cat."

"Go back to sleep!"

"Just look!" Dudley said persistently. When he glanced out of the window, he could see that the shadow was still there, along with the gleaming eyes. "See, it's right there!"

Harry more or less snarled in anger, but did as he was asked. He hauled himself out of bed and looked out of the window, where he too saw the large shadow that was made all too clear from the street light. Without another word, he grabbed his wand and made his way downstairs to the front door.

"What is it, Harry?" Dudley – who had followed Harry downstairs – asked fearfully. "Is it dangerous?"

"I don't know, but if it is, then it's picked the wrong house to lurk in front of," Harry growled angrily as he pointed his wand at the keyhole. He muttered the spell, _alohamora, _under his breath and the door clicked open. His uncle's old habits of locking him in hadn't left.

Dudley suddenly felt somewhat useless. Harry had magic, he had fists. What sort of a weapon was that against what could very well be a magical creature that could easily rip him open? It didn't feel fair, but in an effort to feel like he was helping, he grabbed a cricket bat from the cupboard under the stairs.

Out in the garden, the shadow was just touching the tips of Harry's toes. Harry brandished his wand at the creature in the flower bushes. There was no movement save for the wind rushing through the leaves.

"I don't know what you are, but I suggest you either leave or show yourself before I blast you to bits!" Harry threatened.

The creature didn't react for a few minutes, but then it slowly crept out of the bushes towards the two cousins. Dudley gasped at what it was.

It was a massive wolf, with shoulders that reached higher than Harry's waist. Thin and malnourished, its long legs looked more like sticks of skin and bones, and the ribs were showing painfully through its mangy, tatted fur. The street lights above gave the thick clumps of scruffy hair on the wolf's body an orange tint, but Harry thought it was almost a yellowy-gold colour. Its left front leg was bleeding profusely, like the two savage wounds that ran along its shoulders and met the bone. A long, scraggy blonde mane hung over its eyes, which were a pale blue colour and looked fearfully at Harry and Dudley with an almost… human intelligence.

"Wh-where do you think it's come from?" Dudley asked quietly, hefting the cricket bat in his meaty hands.

"I don't know," Harry replied, keeping his eyes on the wolf. "Who are you?" he asked it.

The wolf opened its mouth, as if to reply, but then the air was suddenly torn apart with an ear-splitting _"crack!"_ and the wolf was suddenly on the floor, howling in pain as blood gushed from a wound in its right shoulder. Looking up, Harry saw his uncle looking down at him from Dudley's bedroom window, a gun in his hands.

"Get that mangy beast out of here!" Vernon Dursley roared, spittle flying from his mouth. "Better yet, kill it before I do so myself!"

The wolf hauled itself from the blood-stained grass and ran down the street. Harry charged after it, but when he turned into the next road, it had disappeared.

"Wait!" he yelled, as if the injured animal could hear him, but nothing happened.

Harry's shoulders fell as he accepted defeat. Tired and angry, he walked back to Number Four, Privet Drive, intent on giving his uncle an earful on how the animal hadn't intended to harm him and his cousin, but even at the end of the street, he could tell that his cousin had beaten him to it, judging by the sounds of intense yelling coming from the house. But thoughts of the wolf still bothered Harry. Its eyes, they'd been familiar. Where had he seen them before..?


	2. Chapter 1 - Second Home

**A relatively short chapter, but I hope you like it. I've got another six chapters I need to post so don't worry.**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 1 – Second Home<strong>

"Welcome home, Harry dear!"

Harry smiled happily as he was wrapped in one of Mrs Weasley's warm hugs. It was good to be back in the Burrow, but also rather strange considering the company he'd brought with him.

"Oh, how've you been, dear? And this must be your cousin! Welcome to the Weasley household, Dudley!" Molly Weasley chattered as she busied herself with Harry and Dudley's bags. Harry would have helped, but he knew how the red-haired woman took pride in her hospitality.

"I… Umm, thanks," Dudley mumbled quietly. His last experience with the Weasleys hadn't ended very well, and now this bubbly woman in a patchwork dress was rushing around, he was very overwhelmed by it all.

"Oh, Mrs Weasley, let me-," Harry offered, but he was cut off.

"It's okay, Harry, I'll get Ron to do it. Ron! Would you mind taking Harry and Dudley's bags upstairs?"

"Sure mum," Ron grumbled as he simply lifted the two heavy bags with a flick of his wand and levitated them upstairs. He wouldn't dare say it, but his mother seemed to be forgetting she had magic. Once that was done, he made his way to greet Harry.

"Good to see you back, mate," he said cheerfully. "But what's with your cousin being here?"

"It's good to see you too," Harry laughed. "And your mum thought it would be good for Dudley to get, um… acquainted with your family. Remember last time they met?"

"Oh yeah, I remember that!"

Ron tried to hide his laughter at the memory, but a small giggle succeeded in escaping his mouth. Dudley didn't seem to notice; he was too busy staring in wonderment at the pots and pans that cleaned themselves.


	3. Chapter 2 - Dragon in the Burrow

**The plot shall thicken! Like soup! XP**

**Ignore my bad jokes, just read it!**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 2 –Dragon in the Hollow<strong>

_Knock! Knock!_

"Oh, goodness, is that them already?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked up curiously from their conversation about how Hermione's parents were doing as Ron's mum bustled over to the door. Dudley just managed to scoot out of her way and quickly sit next to the three friends at the table.

"Who's your mum expecting, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno," Ron shrugged. "Mum and Dad never tell us anything these days."

They turned their attention to Mrs Weasley, who was stood at the door and blocking their view of whoever was outside.

"Thank you for taking him in at such short notice," said a formal, clipped male voice that Harry didn't recognise. "If there's any trouble then just let us know."

"Oh, it's fine," Molly stressed. "The children might not agree with it at first, but Arthur and I know that it's for the best, and once the others find out what happened I'm sure they'll be fine."

"I see," the male stranger mused. "I must be going now. Thank you once again."

"You're welcome," Molly said as the stranger left. Once he was gone, she turned her attention to someone else. "Come on, dear, let's get you inside. Would you like something to drink?"

"I, um… th-thank you, Mrs Weasley," stuttered a small, quivery voice at the door. "I-I can't thank you enough. After all that's-."

"Hush now, this is a new start for you. Come inside and I'll get you some tea." With that said, the quiet stranger into the now silent kitchen and sat them down at the table opposite Harry and the others. When Harry realised who it was, his blood ran cold, and he was sure the same happened with his friends whilst Dudley remained blissfully unaware, but still conscious of the sudden change in atmosphere.

Sat in front of them was the last person they'd expected; _Draco Malfoy_. But he was… different. Not only did he look terrible, but he seemed to have changed in the year since the battle at Hogwarts. His eye sockets and cheeks were sunken, his face was a deathly white, almost like a skull, and manky blonde hair hung over his silvery blue eyes, which were now fearful and flickering around all over the place, trying to take everything in, but not once did he make eye contact with anyone. He was dressed in a filthy blue jumper and a backpack he'd forgotten to take off was rested on his shoulders.

"Here you go," said Mrs Weasley as she placed a mug of steaming hot tea in front of Draco, who took it in shaking, long-fingered hands. The left one was wrapped in a clean white bandage.

"Th-thank you," Draco murmured quietly. Harry had expected to hear sarcasm behind his words, but instead it sounded like he was being truly grateful!

"Um, mum?" Ron enquired, whilst glaring at Malfoy. "Can I talk to you in the lounge?" He got up from his seat and gestured for Harry, Hermione and Dudley to follow him.

"Of course, Ron," Mrs Weasley murmured, and she followed her son into the living room, where the latter stood facing her with his arms crossed.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Ron demanded. He wasn't yelling but his voice was loud enough for Draco to hear him in the kitchen.

Molly sighed. "Ron, he's going to be staying with us for a while, so I'd like you to be-."

"Staying with us? You can't be serious! After all that he and his family have-."

"That doesn't matter anymore, Ron, and I won't have you talking like that around Draco. He's had a hard time and just wants to move on."

"Mum, he-."

"Ronald Weasley, that's enough! I don't care what has happened between you and Draco, but I want you to forget-."

"Mum! There's a Death Eater in our kitchen!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Mrs Weasley flustered as she followed the sound of her daughter's voice back into the kitchen. Harry and the others did the same, and there, they saw that George and Ginny Weasley were stood in the kitchen with their eyes on Draco. Ginny was looking at him with a death glare, George was more confused than anything, and Draco looked as if he was trying to make himself invisible by hiding his face behind his hair. When Dudley came in, he was reminded of a caged animal in a zoo, but instead he wasn't the one tapping at the glass for once.

Where did that thought come from?


	4. Chapter 3 - Shot?

**Hey, where'd this come from?**

**So sorry this took so long. Stuff happened. I'll get the remaining chapters up and we'll see what I'll update next.**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 3 – Shot?<strong>

Half an hour later, Draco was sat in the corner of the lounge whilst everyone was on the large, fluffy sofas trying to ignore him. Arthur Weasley had come home from work earlier and explained that the Malfoy boy was there because of 'Ministry business.'

"And you'll show some respect to him too," he'd said sternly. "If he wants to tell you why he's here, he'll tell you himself."

Everyone, especially Ginny, groaned in annoyance but did as they were told. Harry had explained to Dudley just who Draco was, which hadn't taken very long because his cousin already knew about the Death Eaters and all that stuff.

Now Dudley was trying to teach Mr Weasley, who had jumped for joy at the chance of socializing with a Muggle, how televisions worked. Quite frankly, he was having some difficulty.

"Sir, there's no magic involved, remember?" he tried to explain. "It's electricity that powers it. Like lightning."

"But where do you _get_ the lightning?" Arthur quizzed. "Thunderstorms don't occur every day so where else do you get it?"

"Umm, people make it in factories, I'm not sure how, but they send it to us and it powers the house. See?"

"How do 'guns' work?"

Everyone looked at Draco in surprise. Since he'd arrived, this was the first time he'd spoken out without someone talking to him first. Harry didn't know what was more shocking; the fact that he'd spoken or the fact that the question was to do with _muggles_.

"Why'd you want to know?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I… I saw some Muggles using one," Draco murmured nervously. "I was… curious…" With that said, he tried to hide himself behind his hair again, a habit that was growing slightly annoying.

"Well, my dad taught me how they work," Dudley said. "I'm not sure about the science of it, but you need to load it with bullets before you do anything else. Then you aim it, pull the trigger, and that sets off a mini explosion, which sends the bullet flying so fast it could kill someone if you're not careful."

"Oh… right… so it's almost like the Killer Curse, isn't it?"

Hermione answered that question. "Yes, it is. And I honestly don't think they are a good idea. They're dangerous if someone gets their hands on them."

"Thought so…"

With the conversation noticeably over, Draco once again seemed to disappear from the room as everyone continued with their own business. Dudley was exasperated within a few minutes. Now Mr Weasley wanted to know how _rubber ducks_ worked.

But more than once, Harry's gaze wandered over to Malfoy, who was gently rubbing his right arm and wincing in pain every now and then. Harry had the feeling that he'd done more than _see_ some Muggles using a gun…


	5. Chapter 4 - Wounded

**Here we see just how cruel I am to both characters and readers. Cruel to characters because... well, you'll see, and cruel to readers because of the flashbacks that are not in chronological order. Please don't hate me.**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 4 – Wounded<strong>

That night, there was a thunderstorm raging in the skies above the Burrow. Everyone was tucked safely in bed, even Draco was sleeping soundly on the sofa. But at around midnight, the noise outside was enough to induce nightmares, which it did.

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><p><em>The only noise was the frantic pounding of his heart in his chest, which reverberated along his abused and weakened body. Potter stood there in front of him, wand in hand, and a large, beefy Muggle was swinging a large piece of wood from hand to hand. Everything hurt, especially his back and wrist, and he was taking a huge risk in doing this, but he needed help.<em>

_Carefully, he edged towards Potter, constantly searching for any warning signs and doing his best not to appear aggressive. Potter said something, it sounded like a question, but he couldn't understand him properly. A trace of humanity told him to answer, but before he could do something, there was an ear-splitting "BANG!" and sudden pain ripped through his shoulder. He yelped in shock and collapsed to the ground as more blood poured from his body. Hostile yelling and animalistic fear drove him to get up and run..._

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><p><em>He hated that Mark. He hated the way its image crawled across the skin of his left wrist, the way its darkness stained his flesh and marked him out as the enemy. He just wanted to get rid of it! To start again and not have to be hated just because he bore That Mark.<em>

_And now he could. It was dangerous, but he wanted to get rid of it so badly, he was willing to take the risk. He felt guilty that he'd had to steal his mother's wand to do it, but what was worse? Disobeying your mother or forever being seen as a monster?_

_Steeling his determination, he placed the tip of the wand on his left wrist, and quietly recited the incantation he'd found in his father's old library before they'd gone into hiding. The tip of the wand started to glow and he felt his skin start to burn slightly, but he kept going, his words getting louder with each one, the wand burning brighter with every second and the Mark scorching his skin with each thought of how much he truly hated it._

_The incantation was almost over, the pain beyond unbearable. Just a few more words…_

_The last word._

_A flash of blinding white light._

_Ungodly pain ripping through his wrist._

_Blood splattering on his face._

_Everything hurt. It was so terrible that the screams that tore out of his mouth weren't even human. His jaw ripped open the lower half of his face, his teeth were being pushed out of his gums and his nails felt like they were all being pulled out at the same time._

_"__Help me!"_

_His mother came in. She screamed, and at the sound of her voice he tried to haul himself over to her, but she rushed towards him and cradled his body – which was in the process of tearing itself apart – close to her own._

_"__It's okay, Draco, don't worry," she whispered frantically. "We'll – we'll…"_

_We'll what? What was she saying? But with each passing moment his mind was slipping into a primitive darkness that turned her words into unrecognisable sounds that he couldn't understand._

_"__M-mother?"_

_Someone else walked in, his father, who yelled in disgust and shouted a word he'd never forget, not since the first time he'd heard it almost two years ago._

_"__SECTUMSEMPRA!"_

_More pain._

_His shoulders were sliced open._

_Blood everywhere._

_He roared in pain, and tried to pull himself up onto his twisted and deformed legs, but they no longer supported his weight. His mother cried out, but the barrage of yelling and curses being thrown in his direction was terrifying. He needed to get out. NOW!_

_Desperate, he charged towards the window on all fours. Glass smashed, now he was falling…_

_Falling…_

_Darkness..._

_A rough hand suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him upwards…_

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><p>Draco woke up screaming into reality. Hot, sweaty and shaking, it took him a moment to realise where he was.<p>

The Weasley home. The Burrow.

Everyone was in the lounge, gathered around him. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, and Mr and Mrs Weasley. They all looked at him with expressions of shock, confusion and worry.

It took him a further few moments to realise what was wrong.

His hands were now covered with straggly yellow fur, and each fingertip ended with a primitive, sharp black claw. Clumps of mangy blonde fur had sprouted all over his body, a straggly tail had wrapped itself around his stick-thin legs and his head had morphed into that of a wolf's, with a long, pointed snout, triangle-shaped ears and wild eyes that were constantly on the lookout for danger. The wounds that had been so carefully treated a day prior to his arrival at the Burrow had all reopened, spawning fresh pain and spilling blood everywhere once more. His left wrist where he'd tried to rid himself of the Dark Mark, the dual slash cuts across his back that his own father had dealt upon him, and the bullet wound across his upper right arm from the night he'd entered Privet Drive no less than two weeks ago.

Fearfully, Draco gazed up at the people surrounding him. Now they knew. Now they knew what he really was.

Traumatised, scared and alone, Draco curled up into a ball and just lay there, crying softly…


	6. Chapter 5 - A Year on the Run

**Lousy flashback time! Please review, they're my daily dose of motivation!**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 5 - A Year on the Run<span>**

_When he'd gone into hiding a month after the events at Hogwarts, he'd had to suddenly adapt to the new lifestyle of constantly moving around the country, never-ending stress, limited food, and no magic because he had no wand of his own. Over the course of a few months, he was practically a different person. He'd gone quiet, began to dislike the company of his parents, and once or twice considered to turn himself in to the Ministry of Magic for some unfathomable reason he couldn't figure out._

_But most of all, he'd grown to hate the Dark Mark that plagued his wrist. What didn't help was the way his father seemed to go on and on about it. He kept saying that it was a sign that their 'Master' was still alive in spirit, and that he was still with them. But what really got to him was how insistent his father was that they had to get 'revenge.' Honestly, he was sick of the damned thing._

_His mother had managed to get a wand from someone, and as if by some stroke of luck; it had changed it's allegiance to her._

_So two months after they'd disappeared, he got the chance to rid himself of the Mark…_

_Of course… it had gone wrong…_

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><p><em>He spent two weeks after his transformation prowling the moors he'd fled to, but he never transformed back. He couldn't, didn't know how. He tried hunting sheep and rabbits for food, but he was weakened too much by blood loss, the rabbits were too fast and the sheep were too strong. Slowly, he began to waste away to skin and bones.<em>

_When he suddenly transformed back into his human form, it had hurt almost as much as transforming into a wolf, especially since it had reopened his wounds and made them bleed so badly he passed out._

_After a while, he stole some clothes from a country house at the edge of the moor, along with some food, water and a backpack, and headed south in the hopes of finding a city or town to stay in._

_Eventually, he did reach one, and spent the next month scrounging around for food and enduring the pain of unexpected transformations that hit him randomly and constantly reopened his wounds. Sometimes they would stop midway through and he'd be stuck with his jaw jutting forwards, his legs twisted so much that he couldn't walk properly until he changed back and the inability to speak without it coming out as a garbled mess._

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><p><em>Towards the end of June, he'd found his way to London, just after he'd fled from Privet Drive. Bleeding, hungry and thirsty, he could barely stand on his own two feet, and simply resigned himself to lying in the streets and begging for food or money. Most people ignored him, just passed him off as another homeless person who wasn't worth their time, but there were some who tossed him the odd sandwich or small coins which he saved up for the cheapest thing he could find in the shops.<em>

_Sometimes, a wizard passed by his pathetic form. He could tell who they were from the way they were dressed; robes and pointed hats; and when he was in his wolf form; the scent. Witches and wizards always smelt different to muggles; bright and sparky scents that reminded him of those small potion lessons he'd had with his 'Uncle' Snape as a child. The potions they'd made together had been basic or useless apart from making him laugh with joy and surprise at their shimmering explosions of multi-coloured smoke. He missed those lessons. He missed them dearly._

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><p><em>By some stroke of luck, he'd come across a familiar red telephone box.<em>

_When he'd first seen it, he hadn't thought much of it, but then a wizard went in and didn't come out. That had sparked his interest. After about an hour of waiting, he'd seen the same thing happen about five times, and decided to try his luck._

_It had been easy enough to remember the right number to punch in; he'd done it many times before with his parents; but when the voice had asked him for his name and reason for coming, he'd panicked._

_"__D-Draco Malfoy," he stuttered instantly. "I'm here to see… Minerva McGonagall."_

_What? Why had he said that? He was no doubt a fugitive, and there was no way of knowing if Miss McGonagall was even around to speak with._

_For about a minute, he waited with baited breath, half expecting an alarm to go off and for a wizard to grab him and throw him into a cell. But when nothing happened except for a silver badge with his name and the words 'Meeting with Miss McGonagall' engraved onto it appeared, he relaxed and allowed himself to be transported underground and into the great hall that was always the first thing people saw when they entered the Ministry._

_Last time he'd been there, a ghastly statue of a wizard on a throne made of bodies had dominated the centre, but that had since been replaced by the familiar gold fountain he remembered fondly. He allowed himself to stand in the middle of the chamber for a while, just admiring it. No one paid his filthy, haggard appearance any mind, and just carried on with their own business._

_Once he'd finished looking at the fountain, he began looking around, trying to find a familiar face, or someone who wouldn't hit him with a spell the moment they figured out who he was, and simply let him explain._

_Perhaps someone had been secretly helping him along, or his luck had finally taken a turn. Either way, he found exactly who he'd said he'd come to see. Professor McGonagall._

_She didn't seem to have changed. She still had that strict demeanour and stern voice, but to him, it was like a dream come true. Finally, someone he could trust._

_"__Professor! Wait!" he yelled, running after her as fast as his body would allow. His former professor turned to look at him, and immediately drew her wand to his face just as he reached her._

_"__Not another step, _Malfoy_," she growled, her eyes not leaving his._

_"__P-Professor, please," he stammered. "I-I don't want any trouble. I n-need help."_

_The professor lowered her wand, but kept it ready for any attack. "I'm listening," she said._

_He took a deep breath, and was just about to start recounting the past year, when someone started yelling angrily._

_"__There he is! _Stupefy!"

_The pain of a stun spell hit him fully in the back of his head, and he fell to the ground, and into darkness…_


	7. Chapter 6 - Lunar Quirks

**This will be the final flashback-dominated chapter for a while. I hope you like it, and I hope I kept Luna in character.**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 6 – Lunar Quirks<span>**

When morning came, a doctor from St Mungo's arrived to treat Draco's wounds. By midday, he'd showered the grime out of his fur and was sat in the garden watching the others play Quidditch. Dudley was sat next to him, watching eagerly and scoffing down one of Mrs Weasley's chocolate brownies.

"Wow, this is amazing!" Dudley mumbled through a mouthful of brownie. "I'm not surprised this is the most popular sport in the wizarding world!"

Draco didn't say anything, and even if he did, it would have come out as a snarling mess that no one would have understood. Besides, he didn't feel like talking, and instead wanted to read the old potions book he'd found hanging around the back of the Weasley's bookshelf earlier.

"Hey! It's Luna!"

Looking up, Draco noticed Ginny, up on her broom, pointing excitedly at something behind him. He craned his neck to look back and saw a young blonde woman with dreamy grey eyes heading towards them. He remembered her from his years at Hogwarts; Luna Lovegood.

"Hello there," she said in her quiet, faraway voice. "Enjoying your game?"

"Yeah, you want to join us?" Ginny asked.

"Hmm, I'm okay thanks. I prefer flying on Thestrals."

Luna sat down next to Draco, who gave a respectful nod in her direction and returned to his book. He must have dropped off at some point, because he suddenly found himself back in the Ministry…

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><p><em>When he woke up, there was a fierce, painful throbbing in the back of his head, his face ached and his wounds had reopened once more. The floor beneath him was hard, cold rock and a wet dripping sound was echoing through his ears. Judging by the iron bars he could see in front of him and the damp smell that hung in the air, he was in one of the Ministry holding cells.<em>

_Groaning in pain, he lifted himself up into a sitting position and inspected his face to find that his jaw had extended slightly and his teeth had been replaced by awkward fangs. Claws had also grown on his hands and his ears felt larger and more pointed._

_"__I probably look hideous," he muttered under his breath, thankful that he could still talk somewhat normally._

_"__I see you're awake," stated a disgustingly familiar voice that echoed around the cell. He flinched and looked up to see a plump woman in pink who looked like a toad. The first name that came to mind was of course the correct one; Delores Umbridge. Oh, how the old hag made him want to vomit. He'd only ever backed her up to get the upper hand over Potter, but now he doubted he would ever get on her 'good side' by docking house points._

_In an attempt to irritate her, he responded with a strangled snarling noise that he'd learned to produce from the back of his throat, even when he was human. He succeeded in drawing a look of disgust onto her face._

_"__I'd rather you didn't talk," she said briskly. "Your current barbaric tones are… most unsettling."_

_Barbaric? He'd show her barbaric. After all, she'd aided Voldemort in trying to wipe out muggle-borns without the slightest hint of regret, but had _she_ been punished? No, she'd been allowed to keep her job and reputation, whilst he'd been kicked into the gutters, destined for Azkaban just for obeying orders out of fear._

_He shrugged and growled nonchalantly, provoking more irritation from the woman._

_"__Please, do stop that."_

Stop what? _he thought spitefully. _Giving you less than what you really deserve? Talking to you because we're at the same level, yet you keep denying it? If anyone should be stuck with a twisted muzzle and constantly bleeding wounds, it's you. I insulted people, but you sentenced them to death by the Dementor's Kiss. What's more barbaric?

_"__Delores, allow me to handle this."_

_He looked up brightly at the other woman. Tall, thin and imposing, Professor McGonagall was suddenly the alpha wolf to him, the true figure of authority._

_"__That won't be necessary, _Minerva"

_"__I believe it is. It's my job to handle matters involving my pupils, no matter how troublesome they may be."_

_"__He's not your student any more, he is a criminal on the Ministry's Most Wanted list, along with his parents. He aided in the murder of Albus Dumbledor, fought for You Know Who, and tried to assault you just earlier this afternoon. I do not believe how a month of detentions will serve as punishment enough."_

_"__He did _not_ assault me, Delores, how many times to I have to tell you? He came to me for help."_

_"__Help?! He's a Death Eater, how can you be sure-."_

_"__Look at him, Delores. He is in no fit state to have attacked me. When do you think…"_

_The conversation continued like this for a while, and he just stayed out of it until he heard someone calling his name._

_"__Malfoy. Malfoy!"_

_He whipped his head up to look at his headmistress, but immediately turned his eyes away from hers for fear of it being seen as a challenge._

_"__Y-yes, Prof-fessor?" It was little more than a wolfish whimper, but he hoped it got across._

_"__I'd like you to come with me, but if you try anything, then I won't hesitate to send you to Azkaban."_

_"__I-I underst-stand."_

_"__Good. Silvertoungue? Would you mind escorting him to my temporary office? Wait for me there."_

_"__Of course Professor."_

_The cell doors opened and a young man of around his age, presumably Silvertoungue, entered. He was grabbed by the shoulder and hauled to his feet. A low whine of pain escaped his throat as the man's hand tightened its grip on his wounded arm._

_"__Let's go, _Death Eater_," Silvertoungue snarled threateningly. It was obvious he disliked Death Eaters._

_Without another word, he was dragged out of the cell and down numerous corridors that he did not bother trying to remember. His brain felt like it had been crushed, he couldn't think properly and even if he did remember the way around, he would have been too tired to make a run for it._

_By the time they'd arrived, he was on the brink of the collapse, even that short walk being too much for him._

_"__What's wrong, Mutt?" Silvertongue sneered. "Too sick to move? Or are you just faking?"_

_"__I… I…"_

_"__You know what? Never mind, I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. Get in there, sit down and wait for the Professor to arrive."_

_"__O-of course…"_

_He bit back the cry of pain and the tears that were about to accompany it as he was pushed forcefully into the chair that stood in front of a mahogany desk. When he looked back at Silvertongue, the man was looking at his hand with utter disgust._

_"__Who'd you kill to get covered in this much blood?" he asked menacingly._

_"__I-it's my own blood. M-my father… he wounded me almost a year ago."_

_"__And it hasn't healed after so long? Likely story."_

_"__Th-the wounds keep reopening. E-every time something like th-this happens." He pointed at his deformed jaw, but received a wand pointed in his face due to that single action._

_Silvertongue glared at him, no trust whatsoever showing in his eyes. They were peculiar eyes; one brown, the other blue, from what he'd managed to gather from the occasional glances he'd chanced in the man's direction. Long, shoulder-length brown hair hung around his face and he held his lean, muscular build with an air of authority that nearly matched McGonagall's._

_"__Shut up and don't move," he growled in finality. "No talking until the Professor gets here."_

_He nodded fearfully and lowered his head to stare at his hands. He wasn't sure how long he'd have to wait, but he hoped it wouldn't be for long. Silvertongue was scaring him…_

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><p>"Draco, wake up. It's lunch time."<p>

Draco woke up to feel Luna shaking him gently by his left shoulder and talking to him quietly. He shook himself awake further and looked up at her, a slight smile touching his face.

"Come on, let's go."

He growled gently in agreement, sensing that he could allow himself to 'talk' around the strange girl without feeling threatened. It seemed that he'd found another wolf on his level who wasn't afraid to show it.

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><p><strong>Umm... What do you think?<strong>

**Silvertongue belongs to a friend of mine on deviantArt called kagari231. Be sure to check him out.**


	8. Chapter 7 - Letters

**Hooray for short filler chapters!**

**That's all I have to say today. Enjoy!**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 7 – Letters<strong>

A few nights later, everyone was gathered in the Weasley's living room. George was flicking his wand around, conjuring rings of colourful smoke and little, chromatic birds zooming through them like circus birds. All the while, Draco was watching with child-like wonder at the display. It had been a long time since he'd last seen magic used purely for entertainment.

A strident, yet restrained and polite knock resounded at the door. Ginny quickly made her way to open it, and returned with a tall, well-muscled young man of about twenty in tow. He had long, messy brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and mismatched eyes; one brown, the other blue. Draco tensed at the sight of him. Silvertongue.

"Hello, Lucien," Mr Weasley greeted warmly, striding up to shake Lucien Silvertongue's hand. "How is everything going for you?"

"Very well, Mr Weasley, but I'm afraid I can't stay long," Lucien explained calmly. "It is almost nightfall and I should honestly be back home by now, but Miss McGonagall said that I was to deliver these letters to you before I do so. Speaking of travel, may I please use your fireplace? Disapparation has never been a favourite method of transportation and I don't wish to risk flying on a broom right now."

"It's fine, go right ahead. And the letters?"

"Oh, yes! Now where did I put them..? Urgh, of all nights, this is the one where I need to lose my way around my own pockets? Come on!"

After several minutes of frustrated rummaging in his pockets, Lucien produced a small bundle of letters and handed them to Mr Weasley. With a few brief words of farewell, he marched past Draco, shooting him a contemptuous glare that more or less made the wolf man shrivel up inside. Upon instinct, he lowered his eyes to avoid the other man's gaze, and only looked up when he heard the crackle of flames.

When Lucien was gone, Mr Weasley handed out the letters that the young man had delivered. Surprisingly enough, one of them was addressed to Draco, his name written in the familiar, scratchy handwriting of Professor McGonagall.

_What's this supposed to be?_

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><p><strong>This is the last chapter I have up. I'll start the next one up when I feel the motivation. In the meantime, I'll probably be drawing a lot, particularly on the 25th.<strong>

**Happy Christmas!**


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